


Dreamchaser

by UnanymousLeftTest1cle



Series: The Fox and the Fish [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Dissociation, Dreams and Nightmares, Emotional Baggage, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Martial Abuse, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, PSTD, Past Relationship(s), Self-Hatred, Vomiting, past emotional abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 13:42:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6857347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnanymousLeftTest1cle/pseuds/UnanymousLeftTest1cle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's only so much any person can handle.<br/>A Dishonorably Discharged Dishrag of a Husband?<br/>Okay, sure.<br/>A robot that constantly hints at your quickly deteriorating mental health?<br/>Maybe not as common as the former, but alright.<br/>Being thrown in the freezer downstairs to wake up to said husband getting shot in the head, your only source of happiness stolen from that husband's cold, dead hands and then being frozen again?<br/>That's pretty damn specific, actually.<br/>And what Fox had dealt with before she woke up, again, to find that the word had literally become a burnt bagel that smelled like exploded batteries.<br/>And now, that she's been heroine-ing in said post-apocalypse bagel world, she has to put up with nightmares from her past and her... well, not so recent past.</p><p>Well at least she's got a friend in Danse, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreamchaser

**Author's Note:**

> did you get the toystory/buzzlightyear joke? didjya didjya didjya????
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> Also this is the chapter with vomiting lmao

"Claire? Are you awake yet?"

The lanky woman pursed her lips and kept her eyes closed, shifting so she was facing away from whatever light source that had turned itself on and disrupted her snoring.  
A short huff of breath came from behind her now and she relaxed back into the pillows and mattress, her sleep addled mind not working in the fact that that was not the correct response to whatever was now happening behind her.

“Get up Claire. It’s already half past Eleven. You told me you wanted to be up by Ten.”

The voice was closer now, insistent and irked. Claire paid no mind to it. What could a voice and a little bit of light do to hurt her when she felt so safe and cozy in her bed?  
A lot, she realized, as she was forcefully pulled into a sitting position by a lightly scarred hand and a scowling visage of her husband.

“Mi...Michael?”

It was one of his bad days, Claire mused vacantly to herself. The slight sneer of his left nostril and flash of tooth was one indicator. The already throbbing bicep didn’t mean anything, that was standard protocol with her war veteran. The sudden adrenaline rush was what made her hands twitchy. Definitely not the fact that the sneer was turning into a scowl. She was tense and unable to look Michael in the eye, which she knew pissed him off but couldn’t help because she was tired. Yeah. Tired. She was so fucking tired.

“You know I hate babying you. Get up and get showered so you can do something with yourself for once.”

Claire put a hand on her bruising bicep and nodded instantly, swinging her legs off the side of the bed and then realizing she couldn’t go anywhere since the general of the household was towering above her. Looking down at her quaking knees she took in a breath to speak but no words came out. She really needed a cup of coffee. Or food. Or anything other than this heavy atmos-

“Pathetic”

Michael spat out the three syllables venomously and Claire felt her face burn and her throat clench on a sob. She didn’t dare look up. Or move. Or breathe. Michael did one of those 90 degree turns that Claire once giggled at and left the room.

She let out her breath only when she heard the front door slamming.

 

The screech of the faucet is what brought Claire back to herself and she looked down at the icy blue water that filled the tub. Claire brought a still trembling hand to the tub and flinched back at how chilled the ceramic actually was. Letting out a startled huff of breath she reached down to start undressing, but found that she had already been naked. When had she taken off her pyjamas? She couldn’t remember leaving her bedroom either, now that she was attempting to remember anything. Hadn’t Codsworth mentioned some article in the paper talking about memory lapses like this? Diss… Dissociation? Was that it?  
Did… Did that even matter? Why was Claire even thinking about these things? She knelt to the tiled floor, shivering at the cold contact and leaning against the porcelain tub and receiving more of the same chill that was numbing her knees.  
She felt grounded. Like she was a part of her body and in control of it. She let her arms and knees go numb as she leaned heavily against the bathtub and bathroom floor.  
Claire felt so grounded in fact, that she hadn’t heard the slide of the bathroom door, or the soft steps coming up behind her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

Claire didn’t move. She was quite comfortable sitting right where she was. Maybe if she didn’t move, Michael wouldn’t see her. She laughed airily at herself and didn’t see her husband fuming behind her. She felt good, nice even. Something about her arms and legs being simultaneously numb and her body wracking with shivers was better than standing in a warm spray of water, which is what she should’ve been doing by now if General Grumpy was any indication.  
Claire didn’t quite register what the calloused hands around the back of her neck meant, but they were horribly hot compared to her cooled skin and she fliched away from them because they felt like iron pokers.  
Said iron pokers locked around her neck and dragged her upwards, just enough to force her back down. Down towards the water. Face first. Why that way though?

“Micha--”

Her words were cut off by choked gurgles as she was submerged into the tub water. It was much colder than she expected. Or maybe it was the difference in temperatures; between Michael’s rigid fingers digging into her windpipe and the water that she was currently snorting mouthfuls of. What was happening? Moments ago, Claire had just been sitting in the bathroom alone, not doing anything really. 

Oh.  
That was it.  
Michael must’ve known Claire was being pathetic again. That had to be why he was doing...wait.

She was drowning.

 

All at once, Claire's senses went into panic mode. Her eyes burned, she couldn't breathe, the numbness in her arms and legs had turned into a ferocious sensation of pins and needles as she struggled against her husband, she couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, her vision was blurring, she wasn't going to--

 

 

 

"Fox!"

Fox whipped up, pulling her 10mm from under the scratchy straw pillow and aimed at whatever had made such commotion.  
When her eyes cleared she saw him. And then she felt the water in her lungs.  
Fox pulled the trigger an impressive amount of times before she and the man in front of her realized the safety was on. Looking from the gun to her murderer--

"What the hell are you--"

"You're not him."

Fox jumped up, nausea hitting her in the gut like a powerfist, and scrambled out of the trailer. She couldn't hold the bile back any longer and it came out of her so forcefully she couldn't stand. Falling to her knees she gagged on the stench, willing the gentle heaves to subside as quickly as possible. Gentle fingers touched her shoulder blades and Fox recoiled from it so quickly she twisted her wrist in her own mess and fell. Another wave of gut wrenching and convulsing out what little food she'd been able to keep down for the past few days and it was over as quickly as it had began.

Fox rolled away from the stench of vomit and curled in on herself. She hadn't had a nightmare about Micheal in months, not since she joined up with the Railroad and fucked around the Commonwealth with Deacon in tow. Fox tried to remember why she stopped having him tag along, saving synths, the whole shebang.

Another roll of her gut reminded her why.  
Cambridge. The Distress Signal. Danse. The Brotherhood. Danse. Danse. Oh god, Danse. Fox had pointed her gun at...

"Oh my god"

She pulled the trigger at least six times. Hadn't she turned the safety off before she went to bed last night? It was a fucking miracle if she had forgotten she almost killed--

"I thought you were him... Oh my god, Danse"

**Author's Note:**

> Dabs and slams my computer shut.  
> This was a really serious way to start this, thinking about the summary, but it'll have more battery bagel humor in the future.  
> Hopefully.  
> Gulps,,,,,
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> I'm going to let you know now that these chapters are going to probably be short and sparsely updated. I'm currently in school and Finals are just around the corner and I am Loving Being Alive Every Waking Minute Of The Day.
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> Thank you so much for reading this! This is the first fanfic I've ever posted online and I'm actually super nervous about it.


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